Saga’s ground-eating trot carried them around a blind bend, beyond which was a river spanned by a bridge. Leo was so deep in conjecture he failed to notice the Arabian had halted as, in the absence of any contrary instructions from his rider, Saga trotted on until they were almost upon the smaller animal. The Arabian let out a shrill neigh and, half-rearing, plunged away from the oncoming threat, causing its rider to lurch violently to one side. As Mrs Pryce scrabbled to gather the reins, a sheet of paper flew from her hands, helped on its way by the breeze. Her hat tilted and slid from the crown of her head, carried on a heavy fall of soft golden-brown waves that spilled over her shoulders and down her back. The hat, with its white feather, came to rest at a lopsided angle at her nape, seemingly hanging by a single pin.
‘Oh!’
That breathy half-squeak triggered a visceral reaction deep inside Leo, setting his pulse pounding. He watched in admiration as Mrs Pryce expertly brought the skittish Arabian back under control. She stared at Leo for several seconds, her eyes wide, then her brows snapped together and she turned her horse, urging him towards the bridge. Before they reached it, however, she halted again, wildly scanning the surrounding area.
‘No!’
She lifted her right leg clear of the pommel and slid to the ground, revealing a glimpse of slim calf as her skirts rode up.
‘Stand, Kamal.’
She hoisted up her skirts and ran to snatch up the letter the breeze had deposited on the riverbank, where she teetered for a few seconds before regaining her balance. Her back to Leo, she straightened her shoulders and shook out the skirt of her riding habit. She then attempted to bring some order to her hair as it wafted around her head in the breeze, but in doing so she dislodged her hat. It whirled into the air, raised on a sudden gust that promptly dropped it straight into the river.
‘Oh!’ Mrs Pryce bent to gather the draping skirt of her habit again and then hesitated on the bank, one foot raised. She stamped her foot back to the ground, dropped her skirts and whirled to face Leo, narrowed eyes shooting sparks. ‘Now look what has happened. That...’ she waved towards the hat, floating off downstream ‘...was my favourite hat.’
She was all womanly wrath, full breasts heaving.
She is magnificent.
Leo tore his attention from her, leapt from Saga’s back and ran along the bank until he was level with the blue hat, whirling in the current, feather fluttering. A nearby sapling grew close enough to the water’s edge to provide an anchor so Leo removed his own hat, locked one arm around its trunk and leaned over the water, stretching towards the hat with his hunting crop.
There. Almost. He snagged the hat, pulling it close to the bank, then released the trunk and stepped forward to fish it from the river. He registered the subtle shift of soil beneath his foot too late. Before he could retreat, the bank gave way and his right leg plunged knee-deep into the bone-chilling water of the river.
‘Hell and damnation!’
He grabbed the hat, dropping his crop in the process, and hauled himself back on to the bank. Thank God it was just the one foot. He looked back at the river, hoping to retrieve his crop, but it was already several feet away, spinning in an eddy.
A splutter assaulted his ears and he turned slowly. She must have followed him, for she was closer than he expected, her full lips pursed tight, her eyes dancing. Leo straightened to his full height. How dare she laugh at him? He had done her a favour by rescuing her hat...was it too much to expect a little gratitude...concern even? He’d wager she would soon sober up if she knew his identity.
Coming the Duke again, Your Grace? Vernon’s jibe—thrown at Leo whenever he was in danger of becoming pompous—whispered in his brain. What was the point in travelling as Mr Boyton if he flaunted his title the minute he was treated with less than due deference?
‘Oh, dear.’
Mrs Pryce’s gaze locked on Leo’s boot, which squelched as he walked towards her. Her brows shot up, her lips quivered and another laugh gurgled forth. Leo’s irritation melted away as his own lips twitched in response.
He stopped in front of her and bowed. ‘Your hat, Mrs Pryce.’
He proffered the hat and she took it, holding it away from her as it dripped. She smiled up at Leo, a dimple denting one cheek, her eyes—a beautiful golden-brown, exactly the same shade as her hair—sparkling.
‘I thank you, sir. That was most...er...chivalrous. But I am afraid you have the advantage of me, for I do not know your name.’
‘Boyton, ma’am. Leo Boyton, at your service.’
Her expression clouded. ‘At your service...’ Her voice dripped scorn.
She spun on her heel and marched towards where their horses now cropped the grass side by side. Halfway across the intervening gap, she stopped and whirled around to face Leo. ‘Do not imagine I am not grateful, Mr Boyton, but I cannot be easy here with you, in view of the company you keep. Your choice of friend, sir, does you no favours.’
Friend? Leo followed Mrs Pryce who, having reached the grey, now hesitated. She bent her head, looking down for a second or two, then sucked in a deep breath, her shoulders lifting as her lungs filled.
‘Would you be so good as to assist me, sir?’ The words sounded as though they were forced between gritted teeth.
Leo grinned, safe in the knowledge she could not see. ‘Of course...but...first, allow me to defend myself.’
She turned, her narrowed gaze that of a lioness about to pounce. ‘I am pleased you find my predicament so amusing.’
Leo sobered. How could she tell, from those few words he had uttered?
She crossed her arms. ‘Pray, continue.’
‘You claim, justifiably, that my choice of friend does me no favours, but will you so readily condemn a man for his family, over whom he has no choice?’
‘Family? You are related to my neighbour?’
‘Yes. We are cousins. We are not close, however.’
A wry smile curved her lips. ‘I, of all people, cannot judge you by your relations. As you say, one has no choice to whom one is related. But, nevertheless, you have chosen to accept your cousin’s hospitality.’
‘That is true. My cousin has lived in the Americas for many years. He returned to England only a few months ago and invited my brother and me to enjoy a few days’ hunting. It seemed churlish to refuse.’
‘And your other friend? Mr Stanton?’
‘He is searching for a safe pair of ponies for his new wife to drive and there is a pair for sale locally.’
‘I see.’
‘And what of your family?’ he asked. ‘It sounded as though you also have relatives you do not care for.’
‘My immediate family is delightful.’
‘So you do admit to some less than agreeable kin?’
‘One or two.’
She
